


Bumbleby Week 2019

by Patcho418



Category: RWBY
Genre: Bumbleby Week 2019, Dancing, F/F, Fluff, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-06-28 19:05:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19818625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patcho418/pseuds/Patcho418
Summary: Whoa hey! It's Bee week, and I'm gonna write some short one-shots based on the prompts! Stay tuned since I'll be uploading something new every day for the week!





	1. Another Dance (Atlas Ball)

Blake taps her foot idly along to the boisterous music coming from the stage. She can’t exactly say she’s the biggest fan of big bands—with their frantic pace and their obnoxious brass—but with the atmosphere of the night lifting around her, for once she thinks she might not hate them so much.

Part of that, of course, is getting to watch Yang.

She’d never really thought Yang was someone who could be so good at dancing; her only experience so far with that was a quick dance at the Vytal Festival ball that at the time and to this day she’d hoped would have last just a little longer (or forever). Yang was certainly a strong dancing partner, and Blake recalls the way she’d held Blake’s waist when they’d danced, her light but supportive touch a ghost on Blake’s skin.

Now, Yang’s taking up a fair amount of space on the dance floor—and just as much attention—as she swings Ruby into a practiced spin, her arm outstretched as her sister flies back into her hold with a goofy smile. Yang grins back (and _gods_ does Blake love that grin) and flings Ruby outwards, leaning back on her heel as Ruby mirrors her. The two of them are so in-synch, and the amassed audience amazed by their display of dancing prowess.

Blake could watch Yang like this for hours, her eyes trailing the way her mane of golden hair flies around her, never losing its shape as it frames her beaming eyes and her wide, toothy grin. It’s been so long since Blake’s seen Yang smile, seen her have fun and enjoy herself, that watching her now is like watching Yang in her daydreams where there’s no shadows, no fear, only them—only Yang.

And she imagines dancing with Yang, that ghosting touch on her hip calling back to her memory when Yang held her, and she can still smell that faintest aroma of citrus from her wrist, still feel the gentle interlocking of their fingers that Blake anchored herself to, the one place she had always felt safe.

She’s stirred from her daydreaming by applause, and her eyes immediately dart to the circle of people now moving away from Yang and Ruby, the younger of the two locked in the crook of Yang’s elbow and her face as red as the dress she’s wearing. Yang is smiling as her hold on her sister tightens, ruffling her spiky hair in that way she always does when she’s proud. Blake is proud, too, and joins in the applause from her seat along the wall.

Of course, Blake would think her light but enthusiastic clapping would easily blend into the applause, but the moment her hands meet Yang’s eyes dart to her. Her grip loosens around Ruby’s neck, allowing the red to disappear from her cheeks and eyes, and she smiles warmly at Blake, who can swear her own cheeks burn for just a moment.

Yang finally lets Ruby free and moves through the dispersing crowd, who are now moving to form partnerships as the band comes back in with a slower song. Blake almost— _almost_ —recedes in her seat, but is instead pulled forward as Yang approaches, her steps soft on the marble flooring.

“Hey.” One word, but Yang manages to say it like an invitation. She stands in front of Blake, her arm at her side as her eyes scan her. 

Blake smiles an easy smile—everything is so easy with Yang—and leans forward more. “Trying to use that ‘saved dance’ you owe me?”

Yang chuckles warmly, musically, and takes a step forward. “I thought I’d already used it back at Beacon?” Then, her weight shifts onto one hip and Blake swallows back the immediate moan that forms in her throat. Yang adds with a wink: “Or are you just trying to get a free dance with me?”

“Well,” Blake begins, realising immediately she doesn’t know how to follow up other than to admit just how much she wants to dance with Yang. She clutches the fabric of her pants, bunching them up in her fingers, searching for the words to say but every possible one bringing a deeper blush to her cheeks.

Metal finds its way between her fingers, and Blake is thankful for the momentary relief from the heat spreading through her skin. Her eyes turn to Yang, who is now sitting beside her; they’d seen each other before the ball began, and to say Yang’s appearance had set off the most exciting of panics in her chest wouldn’t be false. Her dress was just the right amount of gilded elegance to blend in with the other young women of Atlas’ higher society, and yet with the faint pattern of fire stretching from the hem of the skirt to her waist and the very bold, low neck of the gown, it was so characteristically her. 

Blake had been completely unable to pry her eyes away then, and now, with Yang sitting right next to her, the shine of orange still bold on her eyelids and the shine of purple earrings under the hall’s lights, Blake is still unable to stop staring.

Their fingers squeeze closer together, and the heavy thumping of her heart and heat of blush in her cheeks subsides. Yang offers her a gentle smile. “Or we could just stay here. Whatever you want.”

Blake nods, her fingers curling inwards as the final bit of blush leaves her skin. “I want to dance with you.”

Yang smiles, gentle and pleased, and stands from her seat; Blake follows her lead as Yang walks them to an empty part of the ballroom floor, pulling Blake into a slow sway as her hand finds its way to her waist. Her breath stills at the contact, and she leans into that touch she can’t stop dreaming of.

Her eyes flutter as they sway, her body so light in Yang’s hands, her feet gliding over marble like skates, and her gaze never leaves the smile forming on Yang’s lips.


	2. Twenty Minutes (Meeting the Parents)

“You know, I kind of like seeing you sweat,” Blake purrs from the apartment dining room, her eyes scanning Yang’s glistening skin as she pulls a tray from out of the oven.

Yang offers her a teasing chuckle—one she finds all the more enticing with her girlfriend in this state—and closes the oven door, sliding her metal hand through her bangs. “You’re gross, babe.”

“And you’re hot.”

“And you’re—” Yang strides over and takes hold of Blake’s hand (goodness her hand is so cool against her skin) before guiding it back to the stack of plates, half of which have been placed on dining mats on the table. “—distracted.”

Blake presses her lips together and continues setting the dinner table; she can’t say she dislikes when Yang acts responsibly, and might even put it in her ‘top five reasons to love Yang Xiao Long’, but she can tell Yang’s a little nervous. It’s probably the way she pays extra attention to the plates and cutlery, occasionally grabbing a piece from the table, running it under the sink, and then putting it back on the table. It might also be the way she playfully chases Blake out of the kitchen where normally she wouldn’t mind the company while cooking.

“You don’t have to be so nervous,” Blake tells Yang easily, comfortingly. “My parents already love you so much.”

Yang shrugs as she returns to the cutting board in the kitchen. “Me? No, Yang Xiao Long doesn’t get nervous.”

“Well, ‘Yang Xiao Long’ only talks in third person when she’s nervous.” Blake sets another plate down and, to appease Yang’s extra attention to detail tonight, checks for any unwashed spots. 

A sigh escapes Yang’s lips; there’s no hiding the truth from Blake, not when they so rarely keep secrets from each other. She puts down the knife beside the half-chopped carrot and turns to Blake with a clearly anxious smile. “I know they love me. All parents do!”

“Jacques Schnee might have something to say about that.”

“Jacques Schnee should never get to say anything ever,” Yang sneers playfully, causing Blake to snort as she covers her mouth with her palm. Still, the joke isn’t enough to ease Yang’s tense expression. “It’s Tai I’m worried about.”

Blake purses her lips, Yang’s anxiety now spreading to her as she feels her chest constrict. “Do…do you think your dad won’t like me?”

Yang seems to understand her mistake and immediately raises her hands defensively. “No, no, nothing like that! He’ll probably love you! I think he already does with everything I’ve told him!” She steps away from the cutting board for a moment, her steps light and careful. “But your parents…might find him a bit much.”

Again, Blake has to laugh, though this time she tries to stifle it with a turn of her head (it’s not subtle, and when she turns back to Yang she’s sporting a frown that makes her fall harder). “Sorry,” she offers and takes Yang’s hand in her own, stroking her thumb along the smooth metal. “I don’t see how they could hate the father of the woman I love. Unless he were a jackass.”

It’s immediate, almost reactionary, the way Yang is pulled in by Blake’s words. Her lips loosen at the corners and her shoulders sink into a slightly more relaxed position; the way she holds Blake’s hand, delicate and careful, is what finally eases her into a softer state.

“Yeah,” Yang murmurs, pulling Blake’s hand closer. “Yeah, you’re right. My dad’s pretty great. I think you’ll like him.”

“You know we can’t wait to meet him,” Blake replies tenderly. Her eyes dart between Yang’s momentarily before finding comfort in her gaze, and a smirk breaks across her lips. “Now go and finish your salad, master chef!”

Yang chuckles and brings Blake’s hand to her lips, placing a gentle kiss to her thumb before they reluctantly break their contact. “Aye-aye, ma’am!”

Blake smiles as she watches Yang head back to the kitchen, her chest light and her gaze tender. It’s not often Yang gets nervous like this; usually she’s so ecstatic about introducing new things from her own life into Blake’s (even though, especially in the case of corny horror films and heavy rock music and late late night trips to the beach to skinnydip, she’s not always a fan of these ‘new things’).

Yang is an open book, always has been. The way Blake can read every quirk of her lips or every quick glance as ‘I love you’s and ‘let’s do something fun’s and ‘I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you’s is what’s allowed her to be so open in return, and is what’s allowed them so much unbridled trust. Yang being able to trust Blake with her insecurities—being able to talk about the nervous thoughts racing in her mind—is one of the other reasons Blake is so in love with Yang.

She notices the way Yang’s hands press maybe a bit too firmly into the counter before she readies the salad, thinks maybe she’s still nervous, thinks maybe there’s something else on her mind, but the buzzing in her back pocket alerts her to a different situation.

“Hello?”

“Oh, Blake, honey!” It’s her mom, and she sounds ever so slightly distressed. “I’m just calling to let you know your father and I are running a few minutes behind. Something happened with the car and we’re just figuring it out.”

Blake swallows back her own anxieties. “Are you two okay?”

“Oh, we’re fine! This nice gentleman stopped by on the road to help us out, so it shouldn’t take long.” Then, with the sass that only Kali Belladonna could muster: “You know your own father is absolutely pathetic with vehicles.”

“Right,” Blake says with a roll of her eyes. “How long do you think you’ll be?”

There’s a pause followed by indistinct murmuring on the other end. Blake taps the side of her scroll with her nails while she waits, drawing Yang’s attention. Her eyebrow goes up inquisitively and she mouths ‘who is it?’, to which Blake mouths back ‘my parents, they’re late’.

“Blakey? Are you still there, honey?”

“Yeah, still here, mom.”

“Good! The man says about twenty-ish minutes? Hopefully that’s not an inconvenience to you?” Kali says in the overly polite way that means ‘ _we know it’s inconvenient but it can’t be helped_ ’.

“Not at all!” Blake replies politely, turning to Yang with the opposite expression on her face. Yang smiles cheekily—reason number three to love her—and points to the oven while mouthing ‘I could use twenty more minutes!’, to which Blake nods. “It should give Yang time to finish dinner.”

“Excellent!” Kali cheers. “Sorry, honey, we’ll be as quick as possible! Tell Yang that Ghira and I are excited for dinner! See you soon, honey!”

“Bye, mom. Will do!” And with that, Blake sighs and places her scroll back into her pocket. “Well hopefully your dad isn’t late.”

Yang shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s alright, Blake. I could use the extra few minutes to destress, too,” as she stretches her arms in front of her, several noisy pops escaping between her knuckles. “Plus, knowing my dad, he’ll never forgive himself for being late!”

Ten minutes pass (Blake counts them down herself as she moves quickly around the apartment to tidy), and there’s no sign of Taiyang. While she tries to maintain a neutral expression at best, she can’t help but continue to glance at her scroll in frustration every few minutes.

Yang is no different, continuously drumming along her arm as her attention remains fixed on the door once her meal pieces are finally done (nothing fancy, but even preparing lasagna and salad tends to calm Yang down—and now both are finished and she only has her thoughts). 

Blake finishes tidying after twenty minutes (she’s still counting) and her attention snaps to the door, expecting the heavy knocks of her father; Yang’s eyes also remain fixed, though now she’s fidgeting with the hem of her skirt rather than her arm.

“Has he texted you?” Blake posits, hoping maybe to spark some hope in Yang. 

Instead, Yang shakes her head. “Sorry,” she mutters. “Kind of not the best first impression, right?”

“Yang, you don’t have to worry,” Blake marches over to her and places a comforting hand on her shoulder, stepping close for Yang to lean into her side. “I’m sure he has his—”

Their eyes light up when a rhythmic knocking sounds from the doorway, follow by muffled laughter. Blake quickly moves over to the door and already she can hear the unmistakable roar of laughter that belongs to her father.

“They’re here!” Blake tells Yang, who immediately moves to her dishes. Blake turns the knob and puts on her best ‘family’ smile. “Hey!” she beams as she welcomes her parents and…well, she’s not sure, and it shows in the way her face falls for a moment.

Her mom and dad are standing in the hallway, Ghira holding a tray (probably desert), but his attention is briefly on another man standing beside them holding a bottle of wine. When he hears his daughter’s voice, however, Ghira stops and smiles warmly at her.

“Blake, hello!”

The man with the wine’s face lights up and he beams. “Blake! My gods, it’s so good to finally meet you!”

And that’s when Blake probably feels the stupidest she’s felt in her life. Still, she doesn’t let her momentary shock stop her from welcoming her guests into the apartment, first extending a hand to the man as she realises: “You must be Taiyang.”

“Please, call me Tai! Your parents already do!” he jokes as he takes her hand into his strong grip.

When Blake’s expression easily reads as confused, Kali steps beside her. “Tai here helped with the car, how funny is that?”

“Wait, my dad fixed your parents’ car?” Yang shouts, and immediately she’s beside Blake. Her eyes dart quickly from Ghira to Kali, then to her father. “That’s not good.”

“Hey, I’ve been taking classes! I think I’ve gotten pretty good at this whole ‘mechanics’ thing!” Tai says defensively.

Ghira chuckles again. “And it shows! Your father is quite the mechanic, I must say!”

Blake and Yang look between each other, confusion once more present in their expressions, before Blake finally steps aside. “Well, I’m glad you three have become acquainted,” she finally says. 

“Saves us from the small-talk for sure,” Yang mutters under her breath, receiving a light jab from Blake.

“Well,” begins Kali with a devilish grin, “who needs small-talk? Tai hasn’t finished telling us the story of your first haircut, Yang!”

Yang’s cheeks flush red in humiliation, and suddenly Blake can’t help but wear that same devilish grin. “Oh? Is it embarrassing?”

“You have _no_ idea, Blake! She wouldn’t stop crying for hours!” 

“Dad!” Yang moans. The landing erupts into laughter as Yang rolls her arms and stomps into the kitchen, though not before Blake can shoot her an amused glance.

“Oh, just wait until you hear the stories about Blake!” Ghira smiles as he hands the dessert to his daughter, Tai and Kali squeezing past to hang their coats. 

And suddenly, it’s Blake’s turn to flush red.

*

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Yang tells herself as she slides another plate into the dishwasher, though she's obviously covering up for how humiliating it was to have to sit through hours of her father’s stories about every single first in her life: her first haircut, her first bubble bath, her first day of school her first crush, her first everything!

Blake’s expression is not so subtle. “You think you got it bad? My mom had _photos_.”

Yang laughs soundly. “I know, they were adorable!”

“But did you have to ask if you could keep one?”

“Well,” Yang ponders aloud, “she did offer. Besides, it’s just too cute!”

Blake frowns, and the sight of it is just one of the many reasons Yang Xiao Long loves Blake. She knows what comes next and braces herself for the inevitable laughter that follows:

“You’re on the couch tonight.”

Yang snickers, then bursts into laughter again; she knows it’s an empty threat, knows that they can’t spend a night away from each others’ embrace. “Sure thing, babe,” she jokes, closing the dishwasher with a satisfying _click_.

Blake’s eyes remain fixed in Yang’s gaze, and her frown persists for a moment until fading into a more pensive look. Yang cocks an eyebrow; Blake often gets pensive, often wonders and thinks and dreams, and of course she’s going to ask because she loves Blake’s thoughts and dreams—if not, they’re bad dreams and dark thoughts that Yang knows how to chase away.

She approaches her girlfriend thoughtfully and leans against the table beside her. “What’s up?”

There’s silence, not distraught or uncomfortable, but patient. Blake chews at her bottom lip for a moment—her usual signal for the beginning of an intimate talk—before her hands cross behind her back. 

“Do you think, maybe…” Her voice trails for a second, and Yang wants to catch it, wants to take hold of the thought lost to her anxiety; instead, she sits patiently, knowing Blake will continue when she’s found the words. “Maybe,” she continues softly, “we could not embarrass our own kids like that?”

Yang stops, her heart fluttering against her chest with the most intimate excitement. Kids. It’s for sure something she’s thought about in her own future, and hopefully in the future her and Blake have together. 

She reaches out and slides her fingers between Blake’s, curling around her knuckles with contained energy. She lets her excitement show on her face, and Blake mirrors it in her eyes. “When we have kids,” Yang admits, her voice low and gentle, “I can’t promise anything.”

Blake can’t hold back the scoff that quickly escapes her throat, but the look of endearment and the way she pulls Yang’s hand closer indicates a different reaction—another reason for Yang to love Blake.

“You’re going to be the _worst_ mom ever,” Blake jokes.

“And I’m gonna take so many embarrassing photos of them! And when they’re old and they have their own apartments, I’m gonna bring them with me and show their partners!” Yang continues, sliding closer to Blake with a sinister grin on her lips.

“We’re definitely not having kids, then,” Blake murmurs as she leans into Yang’s side. “I can’t put them through that.”

Yang laughs heartily, and Blake’s stern expression cracks to show her own gentle smile. Yang barely has to pull for Blake to fall into her embrace, and she places a soft kiss against the top of her head, taking in the faint smell of lavender as she rests her cheek against her hair.

“You have pretty amazing parents,” Yang admits as Blake brings her own arm up to rest against her own. “And I think you’re gonna be the best mom.”

Blake hums in agreement. “So will you.”


	3. Blast marks aren't meant for you (AU Day/Star Wars AU)

“You’re a Jedi?” Yang shouted over the ring of blaster fire in the cantina.

Blake turned to her briefly, lazily deflecting a blaster bolt with the crimson blade; it bounced away from her with a _pop!_ , finding itself in the wall on the other end of the room. “What gave it away?” Blake called back with a leer. "Besides, maybe I stole this?"

"Yeah, but you also just backflipped over three guys!" Yang shot back, the awe in her voice giving way to frustration.

"Anything's possible if you put your mind to it!" Yang rolled her eyes at Blake's comment and ducked away back against the bar, a blaster bolt whizzing past her ear a little too close for comfort.

 _Great, she's funny, too!_ Yang cursed as she ducked in time to avoid having her head blasted off. She holstered one of her pistols and snapped her fingers towards EC-2, the golden droid whirring and beeping frantically as it sped towards her. Her fingers dug into the pouch on her vest and dug around through old blaster cartridges and empty credit sticks before finally—

“Gotcha!” she exclaimed, slipping the data stick out and handing it to her companion. “Get this back to the ship and prep it for launch!” The droid beeped confidently and slid back, making its way through smashed glass and frenzied patrons. 

Yang readied her blaster again; there were so many of Junior’s goons that escape would absolutely mean drawing this shootout just a little longer, but it was either that or wind up in some Corellian gutter with blaster pocks in her back. 

Through the chaos, her eyes darted briefly to Blake, watching her deftly evade fire with incredible speed and precise movements, her lightsaber whirring through the air like a song in the middle of a battlefield. 

Yang had heard tales of the Jedi—after all, her father would never shut up about how incredible her mother had been!—but had never expected that in her wild, hectic, dangerous life she’d actually get to see one in action, thanks in no small part to the Great Jedi Purge nearly 20 years ago. She could have never anticipated the grace with which Blake fought, dancing around her foes as if walking on air, nor could she have ever anticipated the agility and intent behind every swing of her blade, more precise than any blaster could ever fire.

If the Force could do 'anything', like Tai had always said, surely it must have clued Blake into the fact that Yang was staring. A quick glance seemed to alert her to the smuggler sitting against the bar, her eyes wide and jaw hanging, and a roll of her eyes stirred Yang back into action.

“I’ve sent the coordinates over to Bumblebee!” Yang called to Blake as she ducked for cover behind an overturned table. “We should get to her quick before Junior blasts us into oblivion!”

An incredulous look flashed across the Jedi’s face. “You named your droid Bumblebee?”

“I named by droid EC-2! Bumblebee is my ship.”

If Blake’s incredulous look hadn’t been enough (which it most certainly was), the smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips definitely flushed some red into Yang’s cheeks. She chuckled lightly—far too cute a sound for such an incredible warrior, Yang supposed. “You sure are one of a kind, Miss…”

“Xiao Long! Yang Xiao Long!” As if to emphasize her name as if it carried some immense, legendary weight, Yang sprung up from the table and fired two shots out over Blake’s shoulders; they impacted heavily into the shoulders of a particularly large Trandoshan. She pulled one of her pistols close as the smoke hovered around the rim of the barrel, delivering a coy wink to Blake. “And if you think I’m one of a kind, you clearly haven’t met a lot of smugglers.”

Blake huffed, but Yang could see her annoyance was feigned. “Not ones I’ve liked,” she teased.

Another one of Junior’s goons charged towards them clumsily. Blake raised her weapon in an arc over her head, slicing through the goon’s weapon with such ease and indifference. Yang could see that the tables were certainly turning, but she’d taken risks before, and not all of them had paid off—the metal grafted to her skin just above the elbow was a haunting reminder of her overconfidence.

She’d waited far too long, made far too many deals and raised far too many debts to get this far in her mission. Bumblebee was certainly bound to be ready for departure, and with the coordinates to where her mother was supposed to be now finally in her grasp, she knew she couldn’t stay much longer. Even if she did have a Jedi now on her side, of course.

Blake avoided another quick attack, and Yang followed up by taking out her assailant with an easy shot from her blaster. “Well, sweetheart, I’m sure you’re gonna find me to your liking, but I think it’s time we high-tailed it out of here!”

Blake nodded. “I agree. Is your ship ready?”

Yang shrugged. “If it isn’t, you better be okay with hanging around a warzone just a little longer!”

“I think I can manage that,” Blake retorted with a wink of her own, and suddenly the heat of blaster fire was really burning Yang’s cheeks. 

Unable to muster up any quick remarks, Yang simply fired off a few quick shots to cover her escape. She dove over the table that had been acting as cover during the skirmish, muttering some choice words to herself as she landed in the glass shards left behind by the now-absent patrons.

“Up!” Blake shouted as she moved to stand over her, deflecting a flurry of bolts.

Yang obliged, quickly picking herself up from the floor—there would be time to inspect those wounds later—and fired off a few quick shots from behind Blake, narrowly missing the dark cowl hanging below her shoulders. She was quick to turn on her heel and sprint towards the door, ducking to avoid the blasts whizzing past her head and pushing back the urge to scream against the stinging pain from the glass.

The whir of a lightsaber told Yang that Blake was still with her, still following her, and Yang had long given up on wondering why she had decided to join her. As long as she had a skilled and admittedly beyond gorgeous warrior with a laser sword watching her back, Yang wouldn’t really complain. 

They made their way through the doors and into the dank streets of Corellia, the pungent aroma of fish delivering the most disgusting of gut-punches to whatever appetite she may have had left after the fight, but the two pressed on. From inside, Yang was sure she could hear Junior’s obnoxious voice screaming curses after them, clearly having recovered from the blast to the back Blake had delivered (Yang only partially wanted to go back in there and finish the job, but knew it would only slow them down).

Just as she had expected, EC-2 stood at the base of Bumblebee’s ramp. Blake’s eyes went wide as she took in the ship, an amused smirk forming on her lips, but Yang put a quick stop to that despite how much she liked the look of a smile on Blake’s face.

“I know it’s ridiculous, but we gotta go!” she shouted as she nudged the Jedi into the ship, EC-2 following close behind with frantic beeps.

Blast impacts rocked the hull of the ship and bounced off of the heavy glass of the cockpit, but Yang had grown used to quick getaways like this. It was all a matter of flipping the right switches, calculating the right route, and ignoring the damage being done to her ship no matter how loud or explosive it got.

As she flicked the final switch and took the yoke between her hands, Yang felt the familiar rumble of Bumblebee under her feet and smirked. “Buckle up, Blake. This is gonna be wild!”

The engines roared to life, the deep sound a source of reassurance as Yang pulled up off of the landing strip, still ignoring each blast that left its mark on her ship. She quickly puled away from the remaining goons and up through Corellia’s industrial buildings, narrowly avoiding collision with support beams and cargo ships moving back and forth between sites, and when she was all clear, pulled forward ahead into the planet’s orbit, the final bit of adrenaline flushing from her veins.


End file.
